A Different Man
by kushy
Summary: Life can be especially difficult for a boy trying to become a man, especially when the world around him is grim and unforgiving. But, when he sees something that he's not supposed to see, it could change his world forever...


A Different Man

By Kushye

In all his twenty-eight years, this neighborhood hadn't changed at all. It was still worn down, still dirt-dingy and still had that feeling of oppression that could make a man feel like he would drown in a sea of gray and brown dreariness. The man he was following seemed right at home in this depressing neighborhood.

He couldn't believe Stone's Market on Lennox was still in existence. He knew the owner had been robbed several times, and had witnessed God-knows what else through those heavily barred and filmy windows. He was still open for business. He was still there, though the businesses on either side of him in the bleak gray building had long since closed up, moved away or gone belly-up.

Yeah. Mr. Stone was a survivor. Marcus Young was a survivor too. These streets were hard and mean, but if a man kept his eyes and ears open and paid attention to that paranoid "itch" that triggered flight or fight, he could eek out a tolerable existence. But "tolerable" just didn't cut it for Marcus because he hated this place. The man he was following went into a dilapidated pawn store. Even though he didn't smoke, Marcus lit one up and waited inconspicuously outside, across and down the street a ways.

Marcus grew up in this concrete neighborhood of cracked pavement and vacant trash-ridden lots. Until the age of 17, the only home he had known was The Geneva Towers, the run-down 24-story housing project where a good chunk of his neighbors ran the gamut of every variety of "shady" you could think of. The spare 2 bedroom apartments lacked decent plumbing and heating, and the elevators were a hazard to one's health, but the rent was cheap. At least half the tenants were single mothers, like his mother Jenette. They were all trying desperately to raise their kids to young adulthood.

His dad had skipped when Marcus was three. Jenette found herself a twenty-year-old single mother with a lot of pride, and no real means to support herself and Marcus. By the time Marcus started school, Jenette had earned her GED and an AA in Sociology at the local community college. She found a job downtown with a non-profit organization that just barely kept a roof over their heads and put food on the table.  
-  
He didn't remember his father. He did remember when he was about nine, playing in his mother's room one rainy afternoon. He'd found an old shoebox under her bed. Even though she wasn't due home from work for at least another hour, he gently closed her room door and sat on the floor next to her bed. He lifted the lid off the box. Amongst some papers, he found some rusty keys and a faded, dog-eared picture of a man with his arm around his mother – they looked happy; like they were laughing at something. Marcus stared at the man in the picture. Who was he? For days Marcus wanted to ask his mother about the picture, but then she would know that he had been playing in her room when he wasn't supposed to. He must have looked at that picture every day for a month before his mother got home from work. Then one day after school, he went into his mother's room to look into the box again - but it was gone. He never asked his mother about the box with the picture of the man, and the ring of rusty keys in it.

He told himself it didn't matter. By the time he turned fifteen, his mother's love and his own sense of being the "man of the house" kept him out of trouble and making decent grades in school. Mr. Torres, his counselor at Kennedy, often told Marcus that keeping a 3.5 GPA and staying out of trouble increased his chances at a 4-year college on an academic scholarship - basketball skills notwithstanding. Marcus was counting on that possibility as his ticket out of the neighborhood.

However, his life would change completely one humid August evening the summer he turned 17. He had been at the neighborhood park playing some hoops with Tony & Bobby G. when dusk began creeping up the cracked schoolyard pavement and the streetlights signaled the end of their pick up game. Marcus had decided to take the shortcut through the alley between DeSalvo and 5th Street when he heard it. It sounded like dull clanging sounds - like metal being struck against metal. Normally, he would have just high-tailed it back the way he had come down the alley…but that clanging sound… Knives didn't make THAT kind of noise and he was sure he hadn't heard any gunshots.

Marcus crept around the corner and silently crossed the driveway of an old brick building that had the graffiti tagged door partially rolled up. There was a little light, but the clanging sounds were louder and he heard heavy grunting noises - like somebody was being beaten. It was coming from deeper inside the warehouse somewhere. He crawled up the ramp, slid under the door, and flattened himself against the side of one of the large crates.

Marcus' heart was practically pounding out of his chest. He shoved his sport bag between two nearby boxes. What the hell was he doing here? He quickly looked around assessing his predicament; he was reasonably sure he hadn't been seen. As his eyesight adjusted to the dim lighting, the clanging noises abruptly stopped. He heard a man's slightly winded baritone whisper something he couldn't quite make out…and then it happened. All hell broke loose!

There was a huge wind and newspaper wrappings, straw and packaging peanuts from the crates began swirling violently all over the warehouse. The dim glow cast from the industrial lights in the high rafters exploded one after the other, and the windows at the roofline of the warehouse started to shatter and rain glass down on the warehouse floor. Marcus couldn't believe it! Crouching behind the crate, he covered his ears and watched what looked like lightning bolts bounce off the brick walls and boxes. Lightening bounced off the windows and the concrete floor. The noise was deafening.

It seemed to last forever. A man was extending what looked like a sword in front of him, pointed at the ceiling! From what Marcus could still see, the bolts of lightning lit up a face that was grimacing in pain. Marcus couldn't move. All he could do was cover his ears and head and stare at the dark-haired man.

Then it stopped. The newspapers and straw all fluttered to the floor, which was covered in broken glass. The man, his bloody shirt slit open diagonally across his chest, dropped to his knees. The lightning stopped and the man groaned loudly. Marcus held his breath. The man's hair hung about his shoulders as he used the sword to help himself stand. Marcus watched as the man turned around, picked up a long coat and limp out of the warehouse through a broken security door.

Not only could Marcus barely breathe, he couldn't move. Finally, the feeling came back into his arms and legs. He was about to make a mad dash for the roll-up door and run like Hell ALL the way home when a voice said roughly, "You shouldn't have seen that."

Marcus thought his heart had stopped. The man stood about his height. He had grayish hair and was leaning slightly on a cane. He also looked pretty angry.

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?" the man said, frowning and slowly coming closer. Marcus, backing up, found his voice and said "I heard noises, and … and…."

"And you just had to see what was going on, huh?" the man finished for him.

Marcus' brain was busy calculating. This man was walking with a cane. As long as Marcus stayed out of arms reach of it, he could easily bolt and make a run for home. Before he could think another thought, that's just what he did.

Marcus ran three blocks and up all eighteen flights of stairs, in record time. He burst into the front door of #1778 and locked it behind him. His mother was in the kitchen starting dinner. "Where have you been Marcus? And what is wrong with you boy, bursting in here like that? She looked at him intently. "Why have you been running?" Jenette looked at her son and knew that something was wrong.

"What happened, Marcus? Are you all right?"  
"Yeah, yeah Mamma. I'm fine. I just decided to run up instead of taking the elevator this time. Can I have some water?" He was beginning to get his breathing under control.  
Jenette got a glass and filled it with chilled water from the refrigerator. "Thanks, Mamma". He kissed her on the cheek and went to his room.

Marcus flopped down on his mattress and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't believe what he had just seen. And that guy with the cane – he came out of nowhere!

Marcus set the empty glass down on the floor by his bed and sat bolt upright! His wallet, basketball and Jordans were in his sport bag at that warehouse. He left his ID!

"What did he see, Joe?"  
"I think he saw everything, Mac."  
"Damn. Now what? From what you said, he's just a kid."  
"Don't worry about it just yet, Mac. From what I've found out, this Marcus Young is a pretty bright kid. He's not a troublemaker. I have an idea. I'll be back in town in a couple of days."

The fall semester started and Marcus was excited because this was his senior year at Kennedy. He didn't tell anyone about his experience at that warehouse a few weeks ago. He just wanted to forget that he saw anything. He had already replaced his school ID, and his basketball. The Air Jordans, well, those might not get replaced for a long time. He'd saved and scrimped for 6 months to buy those. Oh well…

Marcus was looking forward to finding out if all the studying and hard work last year was going to pay off. His mother and Mr. Torres had spent a lot of time and energy filling out applications for scholarships and admissions to colleges. Senior year was going to be his best. He'd also decided that he would ask Nina Calloway to go with him to the Senior Prom in the spring. If she said yes, the year was going to be even sweeter!

The next day, Mr. Torres caught up with Marcus in the hallway on his way to his 3rd period AP History class. "Hey Marcus," Mr. Torres said casually. "Can you come to my office after lunch today? I need to chat with you. Here's a hall pass. 12:45, and don't be late, ok?"

Marcus made it to Mr. Torres' office right on time and the office receptionist, Ms. Jones told him to go right in. Marcus knocked once and let himself through the familiar office door and stopped dead in his tracks. "Come on in Marcus. There's someone here I want you to meet."

Marcus stared at the man sitting in the rickety wooden chair in front of Mr. Torres' desk. It was the man with the cane from the warehouse. "Marcus, I want you to meet Mr. Joseph Dawson."

"Uh. Mr. Dawson? It's uh… nice to meet you." Marcus was trying not to stammer. Using his cane and the corner of Mr. Torres' desk, Joe stood up, faced Marcus and extended his right hand. "Pleasure, Marcus." Joe said evenly, meeting Marcus' eyes. Marcus returned his gaze and sat down on the edge of the other chair opposite Dawson.

"Well Marcus, Mr. Dawson is here for a few days from Seacouver. Mr. Dawson represents the first reply we've received so far in response to your applications. He's taken the time to fly down here especially to interview you about your plans for college." Mr. Torres then sat back in his chair with his hands folded on his desk.

Joe looked directly at Marcus and smiled. "Relax, Marcus. This isn't a test. I've been sent here to find out directly from you, in person – what your plans are for your immediate future and education. The committee I represent believes you have a great deal of potential and could make a significant contribution to the organization once you graduate from our College Academy."

Mr. Torres stood and, as he made his way behind his desk to the door of the small office, he offered Dawson coffee and Marcus a soda. Initially, Marcus was apprehensive about being left alone with this Joseph Dawson, but he realized that the man couldn't do any physical harm or threaten him here in Mr. Torres' office.

"Sure, I'd like a cup of coffee, Joe said with a grin at Mr. Torres. "Marcus?" "No thanks, Mr. T."

Gabriel Torres walked out of his office and shut the door behind him.

"Man, who are you and what are you doing here at my school? How did you find me?" As those words slipped out, Joe picked up Marcus' sport bag on the floor next to the desk and held it out toward Marcus.  
"Oh, yeah."  
"Oh, yeah", Joe repeated. "You know, if you'd stuck around for a minute that night, we could have settled a few things."  
"Man, you scared the shit out of me!" Marcus whispered loudly. "I was trying to tell you that I heard weird noises and then … well you looked completely pissed off – I just did what my body told me to do and ran. Besides that guy…the one with the sword. Man, I think he killed somebody in that warehouse with that sword. I've seen people get jumped and I've seen people get stabbed and worse, but I haven't seen anything like what I saw that night. If you're here to keep me from talking about it to anybody, man you've got no worries, I swear it."

Marcus was so young. Joe looked at him and thought about how young he wasin VietNam. He'd lost his legs and knew he had no future. But then he got a second chance, andbecame a Watcher. Just trying to withstand the harshness of life could age a young man beyond his years.

"Look, Marcus. I know you haven't said anything to anybody. Besides, I would have found out about it if you had, and anyone you told would have thought you were crazy. You don't seem like the kind of kid to risk 'crazy'. So, relax."

"Then what do you want, man? What do you want with me?" Marcus was curious and leery at the same time about this Joe Dawson.

"The committeewants you to attend our Academy. It's near Seacouver. Full ride four-year scholarship including all your housing expenses and transportation." Joe said matter-of-factly.

"Full ride?" Marcus said numbly? Seacouver? Seacouver is hundreds of miles away from here…. My mom…"

"Don't worry about your mother, son. Things will work out just fine for her. I'm pretty sure she'd be happy knowing that you were receiving an excellent education at a top college on a full scholarship. She wants thatfor you, doesn't she?" Marcus nodded his head. "Yeah, it's all she talks about."

Joe and Marcus talked for another 15 minutes or so before Mr. Torres walked back into his office with coffee for Joe and himself. "Well, Marcus, what do you think of Mr. Dawson's offer?"

Marcus hesitated, and then answered, "I think I should consider this opportunity, Mr. T".

When Marcus got home from school that afternoon, his mother had arrived home early. She was beaming. "Marcus, I've got some great news, honey!" She sat him down on the dilapidated sofa. "I've been offered a job transfer! I couldn't believe it. I've been up for this promotion for a while, and somehow it finally got pushed through. It's a huge raise and the organization is paying for the move! Oh honey…this is the break we've been waiting for – finally we can move out of this hellhole!" She started to cry and Marcus put his arm around her. "You really deserve it, Momma. You've worked so hard supporting us and taking care of me. I'm really proud of you Mom." Jenette squeezed her son. "Thanks, hon."

Over the next four years, Marcus had been in his element at the Watcher Academy. He thrived in the academic and physical training aspects of learning to become a Watcher. When he graduated, it was with honors. Marcus briefly reminisced about that strange meeting with Joe Dawson years ago before moving to Seacouver. That time, they met on the opposite side of town from his neighborhood, in a very nice park that actually had trees and flowers. It was just days after the meeting in Mr. T's office. Marcus and Joe had the park bench to themselves for a few hours. Joe patiently explained all about Immortals and Watchers and answered Marcus' questions as best he could. He'd told Marcus that the man he had seen in the warehouse was Duncan MacLeod, and that MacLeod had just taken another Immortal's head as part of "The Game." It was then that Marcus had noticed for the first time that Joe and Mr. Torres both had the same tattoo on the inside of their wrists; a tattoo that Marcus soon would have in common with them.

Five months ago, Marcus had to follow his Immortal to San Francisco. It was there, across from Alioto's #9 on the Wharf that Marcus saw him. It was the same man…the one in the picture with his mother so many years ago. The man looked older of course, but he had the same basketball player's build and the same charismatic smile. He was talking with two other men in the outdoor dining area smoking a cigarette. The man could have been Marcus in about twenty years.

"Excuse me, are you Leonard Young?" Marcus asked the man, interrupting his conversation.

"Who wants to know?" the man responded, frowning slightly.

"I do. Are you Leonard Young?" Marcus asked again.

"Yeah, I am. Just who the hell are you?"

"I'm just someone who knows Jenette Peters." Marcus replied. The man flicked his unfinished cigarette away and stood up facing Marcus. He had to look up slightly into his eyes.

"You know Jenette Peters?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. I know her very well. She's my mother." Marcus said, meeting the man's gaze. The man's eyes softened and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Leonard Young gripped the back of the wrought iron chair he had been sitting in.

"Then, …then you must be Marcus?" he asked slowly, staring into eyes that held no recognition or memory.

"Yeah, I'm Marcus." He responded evenly. Then he turned and walked back to his hotel.

He didn't look back.

Marcus remembered that day as he watched his Immortal come out of the pawnshop and flirt with a working girl on the corner. He put out his cigarette and discretely followed the pair down the uneven pavement, dodging the unidentifiable refuse and potholes surrounding the ghetto of his youth. He was doing his job; making mental notes to be written down later in his journal and watching in stealthy silence as his Immortal entered a corner bar with the woman he just picked up. Marcus found himself back where his life began, but he wasn't the same young man.

The End


End file.
